


Comfort Object

by Miso



Series: A War He Can't Forget [2]
Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Fluff, Loneliness, M/M, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Everyone needs something to soothe them on those bad nights.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i had a plot bunny and it wouldn't leave me alone. :P i love vulnerable!floyd so much. my awful son.

Earl clicked his suitcase shut and took a step back to ponder. Had he forgotten anything? Didn't really matter, now. His plane left that afternoon. If he dallied too much longer, he'd be late, and Caballero would have his head for missing that big story about LaRue's tour of Japan. Why Japan? No one at SCTV, to his knowledge, even spoke Japanese, especially not Johnny LaRue. Hell, LaRue barely spoke English half the time. It depended on how much he'd had to drink.

"All packed?"

Floyd had never sounded so miserable. Earl nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded. "I think so," he replied, turning to get a look at his partner, who was currently leaning against the door frame and sulking. "Oh, come on, look a little sadder, wouldn't you?" he asked with a soft smile. "It's only for a week, Floyd. It's not like I'm moving to Tokyo."

Floyd shrugged a little and picked at his nails. "I just wish you didn't have to go _now_. After the other night, and... everything." He looked down at his shoes, and Earl felt any jokes he might have had to crack fade from memory instantly. He'd almost forgotten that awful panic attack Floyd had suffered through barely a week ago. His first appointment with a therapist wasn't for another month. He was in an awful state, barely leaving Earl's side. It was kind of weird to be the one being clung to as opposed to the one doing the clinging.

"I know." Earl stepped to Floyd's side and pulled him close. "But I'll be back, and I'll call you as often as I can, okay? And no matter what time it is, if you need me, call me."

"The long-distance bills are gonna be through the roof."

"Fuck the bills. I need to know you're okay." Earl leaned up to kiss Floyd's cheek. He thought for a second as they stood there in each others' arms, then said, "I wanna introduce you to someone."

"What? You have to leave..."

Earl pulled out of Floyd's arms and rummaged in the closet for a bit, before coming up with a battered-looking stuffed animal. Floyd stared at it for a bit, trying to figure out what exactly it was. It looked like it was made out of flour sack material, like the dresses his older sisters had worn when they were little, and vaguely resembled a cat, he supposed.

"This," Earl was quick to correct him, "is Purrl Camembert."

"... Really?"

"I wasn't an imaginative kid, Floyd." Earl brushed a bit of loose fuzz off the aged plush and smiled at it fondly. "I've had him since before I can remember. My grandmother made him for me before I was born. He's flower-print because everyone thought I was going to be a girl, since my folks already had two girls." Earl fiddled with the red sateen bow around the stuffed animal's neck for a moment, then gently presented it to Floyd. "I want you to hang onto him while I'm gone."

"Seriously? A stuffed animal? I'm 36 years old."

"So? I'm 31 and I wouldn't dream of giving him up." Earl covered Floyd's hands with his own. "I dunno. When you're traveling I like having him. Makes me feel a little less alone. I thought maybe you'd like to have a little piece of me with you."

Floyd was trying his damnedest to be bitter, but god, that was a really nice sentiment. He sighed softly, looked down at the ragged old stuffed cat, and felt himself smile. "... Thanks, doll."

"Thanks FOR the doll."

"Don't ruin the moment, Earl."

***  
Floyd turned over in bed and groaned softly. The harsh, red numbers of the digital clock on his nightstand read 2:10 AM, and he hadn't slept for a minute in the four hours he'd been laying there. He had tried everything he knew. He'd counted sheep, counted backwards from 100, then 150, then 200, up to 400. He'd bundled himself up in a cocoon as well as he could and shut his eyes and tried to get to sleep. He'd counted the squares in the quilt; red ones, then blue ones, then purple ones, then all of the colors. He had made himself a mug of warm milk with honey and cinnamon, and when that failed, he'd added a dash of whiskey. Nothing.

He buried his face in his pillow and lay there for a bit. The only thing he hadn't tried was jacking off. He'd tried his best to will life into his loins so he could give that a try, but with no luck. Even his favorite fantasy- the one about bending Earl over the news desk and pounding him senseless just before the crew was due to arrive for the morning news- had failed to stir him. Floyd sighed and picked his head up off the pillow, staring at the claw marks in the headboard for a bit before turning his attention to the empty side of the bed. He'd learned he hated to sleep alone after he moved in with Earl. It was kind of nice to have that warm, solid presence beside him when he had one of his nightmares and needed to remember that he wasn't still in the jungle in Vietnam.

Floyd rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a bit, then gave up and began to stand to pace the floor. As he was getting out of bed, he spotted Purrl Camembert on the dresser. He'd set it- no, him, Earl would be upset if he called his dingy old rag of a toy an it- on the dresser and promptly forgotten about it after he'd gotten home from dropping Earl off at the airport. Floyd walked to the dresser and took the stuffed cat in his hands. The soft fabric was reminiscent of the cottony t-shirts Earl kept stealing from his wardrobe and were more so his than Floyd's these days. Maybe it was worth a try.

Floyd crawled back into bed, pulled the blankets over himself, and got comfortable with Purrl tucked safely beneath his chin. He felt like a little kid, but there was something soothing about having something concrete in his hands besides the sheets. He gently ran his fingers over the sateen bow, like how Earl had that morning, observing the object in his hands. It was white with pink flowers, black button eyes, and a sewn-on nose and mouth that were mostly worn away. The fabric was soft from years of abuse and a lot of its stuffing- sawdust, Floyd thought- was gone, squished flat from being slept with and on for ages. It had soft, floppy limbs, unlike most of the stuffed toys from his childhood, with tattered little triangle ears and that red sateen bow. The bow was probably the most dingy part of the toy, years of being stroked and rubbed taking their toll. Floyd was half-sure he'd spotted this thing in the few baby pictures of Earl he'd seen, with one ear or the other in his mouth.

He felt himself smile a little and tug Purrl close, nuzzling into the top of the stuffed cat's head. Floyd had expected it to smell musty and unpleasant, but no; it smelled like Earl. Like coffee and peanut butter and just a hint of fabric softener. His tension melted away almost instantly and he felt his muscles relax as he sank into the mattress and his eyes fluttered closed. That was more like it. He gripped Purrl and let himself fall asleep.

Earl was right. It was nice to have a little piece of him there. Floyd doubted it would be the same if he happened to have one of his nightmares, but maybe it would be a little bit easier than trying to get through it completely alone.


End file.
